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  “So am I. You may have prevented an epidemic of EVA. Actually, that could turn out to be the most important thing you did with this mess.”

  The praise helped.

  “I’d like to stop over and check him out myself,” Holmes said. “Maybe this afternoon. Actually, I’d like to bring a few of my residents to see him, too. Is that all right?”

  “Of course. Let me know when. I’ll try to be there.”

  “In the meantime, Kent, could you have somebody dig out copies of Charter Oak’s EVA screening tests? Just to be sure they are all negative. We’ll need the dates, too.”

  “They’ll be ready when you get there.”

  “One other thing.” Dr. Holmes’s voice dropped to an ominous tone. “We need to get out in front of this. I think you should quarantine the farm. It’s never a very pleasant task, but in this case I think it’s warranted, at least temporarily. If this all pans out, the state guys will insist on it anyway, and they’ll be glad we got out ahead of it.”

  Holmes’s words came through the phone like a black fume.

  “That’ll be a first for me.”

  Quarantine. The word had shocking implications. It invoked visions of typhus and plague. It conjured images of a panicked populous, mass exodus, communal cremation fires billowing smoke into the night air. If news of it ever broke on the horse breeding grapevine, and it surely would in spite of the diagnostic lab’s policy of confidentiality, Cedar Cut Farm would be an absolute pariah. Regardless of the outcome.

  “Are you still there?” Dr. Holmes’s voice pulled Kent back from his nightmare.

  “Yes. I’m with you. Okay, I can quarantine the farm.” Kent was trying to remember if he even had the necessary forms. He was pretty sure they were tucked away somewhere in the cabinet where he kept bureaucratic documents.

  “Thanks. One last thing. Keep your eyes open for other horses showing symptoms. With EVA, if there’s one, there’s probably going to be more.”

  “Will do.”

  “Then I’ll see you this afternoon.” The line went dead.

  Kent felt sick. “Where in the hell could Charter Oak have picked up EVA?” he said to his empty office.

  “Who are you talking to?” Peter Murphy asked, his surgery-capped head leaning through Kent’s door.

  “Peter, come in, you’re not going to believe this. Ed Holmes says Charter Oak has a sky high titer for EVA!”

  “EVA? You’re kidding. Where the hell would he get EVA?

  “That’s what I want to know.”

  Peter slumped into a chair. “Is Ed sure?”

  Kent looked side-long at Peter. “We’re talking Ed Holmes here.”

  “He’s sure.”

  “But he wants to repeat the serology.”

  Peter sank into a chair across from Kent, and pulled his surgery cap into his lap as if to free his mind.

  “All stallions get tested each spring, right? That’s a regulation set by the Breeding Program.”

  “Yep. Charter Oak has tested negative every time.”

  “Has he been off the farm for any reason in the last few months?”

  “No.”

  “So no exposure, that way. And all the mares that were bred to him showed negative for EVA, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Do you suppose there could have been a false negative on one of the mares? Charter Oak does draw a lot of out-of-state mares. There is an occasional pocket of EVA some place or another in the United States.”

  “It’s a possibility, I guess. The test isn’t perfect. That’s one of the things Holmes is considering.” Kent leaned back in his desk chair, intertwined his fingers behind his head, and looked at the ceiling. “You know something else that’s strange? Charter Oak’s showing such severe symptoms of EVA. Way worse than usual.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  “Usually the horses are a little sick. Kinda flu-like.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “There is an occasional abortion. But a lot of horses that blood test positive show no signs at all.” Kent spoke slowly, pulling musty facts from the corners of his mind. “Back in the fifties there was a really nasty outbreak. In Ohio, I think. A lot of horses got as sick as Charter Oak is, and there were abortion storms. That outbreak convinced the Feds and breeders just how devastating EVA could be, and got them moving on a testing program.”

  “Yes, but didn’t that super-strain disappear over the years?”

  Kent made a cynical laughing sound. “Everyone thought so.”

  Peter mulled that over a few seconds. “What happens now?”

  “Ed wants me to quarantine the farm.”

  Peter moaned and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Wait till that gets out. We’re going to see some serious backpedaling on the part of the owners who have mares booked to Charter Oak.”

  “They’ll have to pull out. They have no choice.”

  “No bigtime mares means no New York Breds.”

  “Uh-huh. I’ve been thoroughly reminded of that already.”

  Both doctors sat in silence for nearly a minute, until Kent broke their trance by standing up abruptly.

  “If you need me, I’ll be at Cedar Cut,” he said. “Executing a quarantine order.” He headed for the door.

  “Oh, man. There’s a task I never want to perform.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Kent caught Louise leading a pair of sleek Thoroughbreds from the paddock to Cedar Cut’s main barn. Her face showed pleasant surprise when she recognized his truck.

  “I thought I’d stop by and give you an update on Charter Oak,” Kent said, as he got out.

  “Thanks for the personalized service,” Louise said, and turned the horses over to one of the stablemen. “How’s my boy?”

  “Better. His temperature held at just a whisker above normal overnight and he’s eating and drinking again. His legs are still swollen, but a lot less. He’s even getting grouchy. For him, I’d say that’s a good sign.”

  Louise chuckled. “Sorry. I apologize for my boy’s bad manners, but I’m glad to hear they are returning.”

  “Don’t worry. When he gets too ornery to treat, I’m sending him packing right back home to you.”

  “The sooner the better.”

  Kent paused for a moment then continued, choosing his words carefully.

  “Ed Holmes, from the diagnostic lab thinks the blood tests are suggestive of EVA.” Actually, the samples had shown an astronomical antibody level. “But, before he draws any conclusions, he’s going to look the guy over for himself. Probably he’ll repeat the tests.”

  Louise’s face ashened before Kent’s eyes. Her knees quivered and he braced to catch her. She stepped back to a stone border around a perennial garden and sat. Louise knew the ramifications of EVA.

  “When?” she asked.

  “When what?”

  “When is he going to check Charter Oak out?”

  “He’s shooting for this afternoon.”

  “Do I need to be there?”

  “No, but you can if you’d like. I’m sure he’s going to want to come out here and see the farm, too. I told him I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Kent drew a trifolded form from his pocket.

  “You know how important it is that we get to the bottom of this, for Charter Oak, and you, and all the New York Breds, right?” He unfolded the sheet slowly, deliberately. “And if there is any EVA around, we need to nip it before it spreads. I know you understand that. So,” the words tightened in his throat, “I’m asking you to sign this order to quarantine the farm until we’re sure everything is okay.”

  Louise dropped her face into her hands and began to cry.

  Kent touched a hand to her shoulder. He could feel her quake with
each sob. He was forced into the role of being a bully and he hated it. By Dr. Holmes’s own admission, the evidence was not conclusive.

  “Louise, this may turn out to be a big false alarm, it’s just . . .”

  “I understand.” She waved off his apology, and pulled a tissue from the pocket of her jeans. “It’s just so frustrating and humiliating. I feel so helpless. And Walt. Walt is going to be crushed.”

  “You and Walt can’t blame yourselves. I know you are meticulous about the care and protection of your horses. I also know you’ve followed every health regulation and recommendation to the letter. No one could do more than you have. Listen, if you think it will help, I’ll be glad to talk to Walt. That way we won’t risk any misunderstandings from third party communications. In fact, he’s welcome to stop by the CVC when Dr. Holmes checks Charter Oak, too.”

  Louise searched her tattered tissue for a dry corner. “That may make it easier. Maybe he can get over there.” The possibility seemed to mollify her for the moment. She looked at Kent with an embarrassed, red-eyed smile. “Sorry.”

  Kent shrugged. “Hey. I feel like doing the same thing.”

  She drew in and released a deep breath. “I guess I’m going to have to give the syndicate members a call. I don’t look forward to that. They’ve been on the edge of their seats since I first told them Charter Oak was sick.”

  “He’s their horse, too,” Kent said. “They have a right to know, but it won’t be any fun telling them.”

  “Yeah. It’s just that most of the five of them are purely investors. Sure, they’d say they like horses if you asked, but mainly, Charter Oak is an investment, made with the sole intent of turning a profit.” She sniffed deeply, and wiped her nose one last time. “I guess I shouldn’t be so self-righteous. They really are nice people. They just aren’t handson, get-sweaty-and-dirty, horse people. You know what I mean?”

  “I see the type every day.”

  “The only one of the bunch who has any horse background at all is Charles St. Pierre, and he’s not exactly your classic horseman.”

  The mention of Charles St. Pierre in connection with Charter Oak sent a prickle racing up Kent’s back. He didn’t know why, or what significance it had, he just felt that jittery feeling that an unsettling thought causes.

  “I didn’t know Charles owned part of Charter Oak,” he said.

  “Actually, Walt and I own fifty-one percent, then Charles comes in with the second biggest share. The other three members only own about fifteen percent all together. So, how much does that make for Charles?”

  Kent had the calculation before she finished the question. “Thirty-four percent. Thirtyfour percent,” he repeated slowly. “Seems like Charles is having a tough year. First Simpatico, now Charter Oak.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Louise said.

  CHAPTER 12

  As usual, they were running late when Kent wheeled the mobile unit into his spot at the CVC. In the space next to his was a midnight blue Lincoln with dealer plates. On the far edge of the lot was a white Cadillac Seville.

  Blue — Walt Stanford. White — Charles St. Pierre.

  “Damn,” Kent said. “They beat us.”

  “You go ahead,” Maria said. “Emily and I can restock the truck.”

  Kent flashed both girls an appreciative smile. “Thanks. Sometimes I think having you two around is worth all the grief you cause me.”

  “Yeah, right,” they said, together. Then Emily added, “Like we’re the ones who cause the grief.”

  Kent made a quick detour into the hospital’s isolation unit. One last check on Charter Oak. He didn’t want any surprises when he brought his guests back to see the stallion.

  He watched the horse through an observation window for a moment — thin and rough, asleep on his feet. A few sprigs of hay dangled from his still swollen lips. A crystalline intravenous line spiraled from his neck upward to a mammoth jug suspended from the ceiling.

  Kent’s heart sagged at the weight of what he saw.

  “You know what, buddy?” Kent whispered, his face close to the glass, “Normally, you are one of my major pain in the ass patients. But right now, I feel for you. If I could do anything more to help you out, I would.”

  He grabbed Charter Oak’s file and headed to the reception area. As he pushed through the door, he slowed, inhaled a deep breath and released it, easing himself into his professional demeanor. He brought up the best smile he could muster, and silently reminded himself of his longstanding motto — Never let them see you sweat. In Catholic congregation fashion, all in the waiting room rose as he entered.

  “Hi, Ed,” Kent said, extending his hand to the nearest person. Dr. Holmes was a blocky man with a head so bald Kent could make out reflections of the globed ceiling lights. He had eyes that caught and held a person’s attention, and a smile that put them at ease.

  “Afternoon, Kent,” Dr. Holmes said. Then he introduced the three young lab assistants he had with him.

  Kent lifted a hand onto the shoulder of the distinguished gray-haired man who had taken a position next to him. “Ed Holmes, I’d like you to meet . . .”

  “Walt Stanford,” Holmes said. “We’ve met.” He gestured toward Charles, adorned in an expensive sharkskin suit, open at the neck. “I’ve also met Charles. I heard Sally call them by name when they came in, so I took the liberty of introducing myself.”

  “Good, that makes things easy,” Kent said. “So I suppose you’d all like to see our star patient.”

  Kent leaned hard against the push rail of a heavy door, and led Charles and Walt, the two men who had the most at stake, down a corridor to the equine unit. Dr. Holmes followed with his helpers. The confluence of eagerness to see the patient, and fear of what they would see, was palpable among the group.

  Outside the isolation area they donned coveralls and disposable overshoes.

  “He might not look that hot right now,” Kent warned. “But he’s one hell of a lot more alive than he was a couple of days ago.”

  As quietly as he could, Kent rolled open the stall door.

  Slowly Charter Oak raised his head and edged back deeper into the stall. Eyes that had been glazed since his arrival, flickered a warning as the big horse braced to defend himself. The snort he let out was weak, but it made his point.

  Kent stopped the procession with an out-stretched arm. Charles took a step back.

  “Walt, he knows you best. How about you hold him while Ed gets a few samples? Go in slow, okay? Looks like he’s a little nervous about the crowd. Which, to tell the truth, I’m happy to see.”

  Walt stepped in cooing silly words from deep in his throat, the way horsemen do. “Hey there Mr. M, you’ve got ol’ Doc scared to come in here.” The others glanced at Kent and chuckled. “But we are all glad to see you’re getting your old piss and vinegar back. We are all real worried about you.”

  The familiar voice relaxed Charter Oak.

  A few minutes later Dr. Holmes and his assistants had completed their examination and collected blood.

  “Christ, Ed, you could have left some in the horse,” Charles said, as they all stared at a pile of blood tubes that could fill a wheelbarrow.

  “Actually, he looks better than I expected,” Dr. Holmes said, stepping out of the stall and sliding the door. “But as you and I discussed before, Kent, he’s way sicker than I’d figure for a typical case of EVA.”

  “Any explanation?”

  “Not really. Could be just an individual variation. It happens. His resistance may have been down for some reason so that the virus really got a foothold. Odds are that’s what happened. Or, it could be a different strain of EVA. We’ll repeat the serology to confirm EVA, then, if it is, we will do some other tests to try to identify the strain.”

  Walter kept studying Charter Oak through the stall bars. “Where would a new strain come from?”r />
  “Probably a mutation — random variation.”

  “Mother Nature at work.”

  “Right. She’s always a step or two ahead of us. Always trying to find ways for her creatures to cope.”

  “It seems to me that becoming more harmful to the host might not be a better way for a virus to cope,” Walt said. “But let’s not worry about that now. What’s our next step?”

  As they all pulled off their foot gear and washed, Dr. Holmes said, “First, if it’s okay with you, Walter, I’d like to stop over to Cedar Cut and have a look around. Check out the other horses. Sometimes it helps us to get the whole picture. Better yet, maybe you could give us a tour.”

  “Absolutely,” Walter said. “Whenever you say.”

  “Now would be perfect, if it fits your schedule.”

  “I’ll make it fit.”

  Charles turned to Dr. Holmes, his face clouded with concern. “I’ve got a question before you fellows leave. Tell me about shedders. They always talk about shedders with EVA. What are they?”

  “Right, Charles. Good question.” Dr. Holmes said. “You’ve been doing your homework. Actually, shedding is the big problem with EVA. Once a horse becomes infected, one of three things can happen.” He ticked off the possibilities on his fingers. “One, he gets sick and dies, which is rarely the case nowadays. Thankfully. Two, the horse’s immune system totally eliminates the virus. He may have been sick, or he may not have shown any signs of illness at all. That’s what happens in most cases and, of course, is the best outcome. Or three, the horse’s immune system is able to keep the virus under control enough that the horse doesn’t get sick, but it’s not able to totally eliminate the virus. That’s a shedder. They show no signs of the disease, but they can pass the virus to other horses.”

  Charles nodded understanding, then had another thought. ”Can you tell a shedder by looking at him?”

  “No. Only by blood testing.”

  Kent said, “That’s why New York requires EVA screening for all breeding mares and stallions.”